


The Poignancy Of Silence

by TheYesterdayShow



Series: The Poignancy Of Silence [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, But no one dies, By theme songs I mean Dee hears music, Car Accidents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hispanic Character, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mild Blood, Moceit - Freeform, Music, No Smut, Patton Esperanza, So much angst, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Tears, crap I'm supposed to be doing my homework, if that makes sense, it's Patton, kissing is light, light gambling addiction, mentions of gambling, no beta we die like men, or barely gets hurt, theme songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21560806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYesterdayShow/pseuds/TheYesterdayShow
Summary: I wrote this for @stop-it-anxiety 's fall fic contest on tumblr a while back! The prompt was "Patton's Song".Dee heard music. As a child, it had been loud, ever-present, as children were almost always happy. Not that ‘happy’ was quite the correct word for it. Each person had a different song, one that played when (as far as he could tell) that person was experiencing a strong, positive emotion. One he’d observed was love. Sympathy, occasionally. But most frequent was joy.Dee didn’t have a song. He didn’t know why, but always suspected that he was just missing out on whatever joy everyone else possessed. He’d never been truly happy. It hurt, deep down. Hurt to know that he’d never get this little portion of personality. He hid it the best he could.
Relationships: Logic | Logan Sanders & Deceit Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders & Deceit Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Series: The Poignancy Of Silence [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553818
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	The Poignancy Of Silence

Kind people who had known Dee as a child would have called him imaginative. Less kind people might have labeled him troubled. Those who were even less so would’ve said he was a delusional liar.

It didn’t really matter to Dee. In more cases than not, those who couldn’t hear the music weren’t worth his time.

Yes, Dee heard music. As a child, it had been loud, ever-present, as children were almost always happy. Not that ‘happy’ was quite the correct word for it. Each person had a different song, one that played when (as far as he could tell) that person was experiencing a strong, positive emotion. One he’d observed was love. Sympathy, occasionally. But most frequent was joy.

Dee didn’t have a song. He didn’t know why, but always suspected that he was just missing out on whatever joy everyone else possessed. He’d never been truly happy. It hurt, deep down. Hurt to know that he’d never get this little portion of personality. He hid it the best he could.

Trying to explain to teachers and guardians why he couldn’t pay attention in class did nothing but land him therapist visits, diagnoses, and pills that there was no way he was going to take. By the age of nine, Dee had learned to lie about it. People were scared of the music, he realized. They didn’t want anyone to hear it.

So, the next time his foster brother burst through the front door waving his report card, a huge smile on his face and accompanied by the cheery ukulele strumming that was his music, Dee just smiled as well and said nothing.

A new family stopped making him see the doctors and take the drugs, but somehow got the memo that he was a liar. It hurt to hear from the people he desperately wanted to be loved by, especially since most families didn’t want him, mainly due to his birth disfigurement. He tried to laugh it off, though. His face made for wonderful Halloween opportunities.

As Dee grew older, he started listening to music of his own. Earbuds playing light mood music or The Beatles or quiet indie songs, a playlist perfectly crafted to allow him to focus. It covered up the discordant mash of instruments that was high school.

One weekend, he locked himself in his stuffy room on the upper floor of his foster family’s house, intent on staying there until Monday, when he discovered that his earbuds were broken. He didn’t dare go in search of a new pair and put himself in the middle of whatever his guardians were arguing about this time, so just cracked his window for some fresh air and hoped no one was near enough for their song to hit his ears. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. A tune drifted up, and, before he shut the window, he tilted his head, listening to someone’s joy.

It was a jaunty piano tune, plunked out jovially, like whoever it was coming from hadn’t a care in the world. It was … pretty, he decided. Very sweet and easy. So, for that one time, he left the window open.

-

Every day after school Dee dashed up to his bedroom and cracked his window, tearing out his earbuds recklessly. Every day, that music wafted up to his room and he smiled, the day finally made good.

One day, he popped his head over the sill and glimpsed a grinning teenager, sprawled out on the trampoline in the neighbor’s backyard. He immediately ducked down, afraid of being seen. The boy was—there was no other word for it—adorable. Like a puppy, happy at existence.

Dee started to keep an eye out for him. Paused his music when walking past him on the way to school, or when walking past the neighbor’s house. Blushed when he saw the boy’s smile at the grocery store, working as a cashier.

He wasn’t attracted to the dark-haired, liberally freckled, bespectacled boy. He just wanted to know. What about him made his music so carefree?

-

Dee taught himself to how to play piano when he was fifteen, sneaking into the jazz band closet during lunch and plunking out notes on the keyboard. He said to himself that knowing how to play piano was a good skill to have, and it would get him girls, and maybe he could take it to a career if he got good enough.

Saying that didn’t change the fact that the first thing he learned was the boy’s song.

-

Years haunted by that cheerful music (which, for some reason, he never got sick of) passed. Dee moved away, got an apartment of his own, yet he still heard it.

The university he attended was unsurprisingly lacking in music. It came in short bursts here and there, but maybe it was more plentiful in the dorms. That didn’t change the fact that every morning, on the walk to whatever building of the school he needed, He heard the neighbor boy’s music. It was brief, always drifting from the same busy intersection, like it was coming from one of the waiting vehicles while Dee crossed the road.

The tune being so close and so far at once drove Dee mad. He stopped listening for it—he needed to move on. His playlist had been specifically designed to block out music. He started wearing his earbuds everywhere again.

One morning he was running particularly late. He ran out of the apartment building and dashed down his route to campus. His backpack bounced and jostled, his breath came in gasps, his eyes were fixed on his pounding feet, but he didn’t hear any of it. Just George Harrison singing sweetly in his ear. Which was probably why he didn’t notice that the light was green as he burst out of the tree line and ran into the busy intersection.

He didn’t hear the honking, or the tires screeching, or the shouts.

-

His eyes blinked open, then instantly squeezed shut as they were met with a blinding light. He felt sick and dizzy and his head ached. A shadow passed over his eyelids, and he realized he was lying on something hard and almost sharp.

“I don’t think he’s waking up!”

Dee groaned and let his eyes flicker open again. A helmeted head turned away from him blocked the sun. Then the person turned back, a phone to his ear, freckled face creased with worry. Even years later, Dee recognized him. Even without the glasses, and with blood welling up from a deep-looking cut on his cheek.

The boy. Or, the man.

“It’s you,” he said before he could stop himself. The ~~boy~~ man’s face relaxed, and he spoke into the phone again.

“Never mind, he woke up! When will the ambulance be here?” A pause, then he nodded and covered the receiver. “Don’t worry,” he whispered with a conspiratorial wink. “I have financial aid.”

And that was how Dee formally met Patton Esperanza. Sprawled out on a busy road, bleeding from a head injury, the man’s motorcycle lying just in his peripheral.

And he was head-over-heels in love.

-

Their first date was in the hospital cafe, both with their wounds treated. Dee had noticed the pride pin on Patton Esperanza’s collar. He shared that he was pansexual himself, and Patton Esperanza, with that adorable little smile of his that scrunched up his eyes and put a dimple in his right cheek, had said, “So I guess this is a date, then. Or a gay-te.”

And that music had played, that cheerful, down-to-earth tune that Dee could associate with a shining face and a small gap between teeth and a sea of freckles.

“I—I guess,” he’d stuttered.

And Patton Esperanza had laughed a small laugh, and Dee found himself blushing as Patton Esperanza suggested a second date soon.

-

Their second date was at a small, locally-owned buffet. Dee found himself laughing an easy laugh as Patton Esperanza mimicked a walrus, chopsticks stuffed in his cheeks. Even over the five separate tunes playing from other customers, he could hear Patton’s song.

He found out that Patton Esperanza was in veterinary school, across the campus from the law division of the school, where Dee spent most of his time. He could imagine Patton greeting the dogs and cats with a huge goofy grin, and realized that he would be a perfect veterinarian.

He felt his face grow warm when Patton nudged his shoulder, sputtered a bit when Patton stole the vegetable sushi from his plate, grinned stupidly when Patton cooed and waved at the baby in the booth across the aisle.

As he’d noticed years previously, Patton Esperanza was the happiest person alive. With him, Dee thought that maybe—just maybe—he could be just as happy.

-

It was the fifth date when Patton Esperanza kissed him. A quick peck on the lips at the local Museum of Modern Art (Dee’s choice, it was mentally quieter than the places Patton liked to visit), followed immediately by a scared look.

“Was that too much?” Patton asked quickly, those bright hazel eyes brimming with worry. Dee realized he hadn’t moved, just stood frozen while he tried to process.

“N-no, it was fine!” He shook his head, trying to clear it, thinking only of how brief the moment had been and how _weird_ kissing was, but in a nice, soft way. “It was good,” he amended, and slowly, cautiously, slipped his hand into Patton’s. The man’s face lit up, the worry washing away.

They wandered the halls all afternoon, hands laced together between them, giggling at nonsensical art and standing somberly before pieces that hit too close to home.

“My parents split up when I was eleven,” Patton admitted at some point. His music had quieted. “I’ve got two little brothers. My parents both knew that they wanted my brothers, and argued over them, but… .” he sighed. “Neither of them really wanted me. I ended up with my mom and one brother. It was clear that she only really loved my brother.” He saw Dee’s sympathy and smiled sadly. “It’s okay, though. Just because I love them doesn’t mean they have to love me.”

-

“My parents didn’t want me, either,” Dee said over a cup of coffee, at the cafe across the street from the museum. He laughed, the sound more bitter than his drink. “Failed abortion. You’d think maybe they’d have a change of heart, and keep me, but no. Took one look at my face and screamed, I guess.”

Patton reached over and lightly ran a hand down the bumps and ridges that defined the scaly deformity that disfigured the left side of his face. “I like it,” he said quietly. “Even if no one else does. It just means no one will be trying to take you away from me.”

This time, though Patton again initiated the kiss, Dee didn’t freeze. He passionately responded.

-

They shared a home now. Dee’s home, actually.

Which meant they shared a kitchen.

Which naturally meant they should bake cookies together.

_Poof!_

A cloud of flour erupted in Dee’s face. He coughed and sputtered and heard Patton’s voice from somewhere through the cloud. “Oops. Sorry!” The little giggle that followed denoted any sincerity.

“Oh, it is _on_ ,” Dee grinned. He spotted the canister of sugar on a counter and, quick as a flash, grabbed a handful and launched it in Patton’s direction.

“Ow! No fair!” laughed Patton. Dee recoiled with a bark of laughter as a plastic measuring cup narrowly missed his nose.

The kitchen exploded into an all-out war of ingredients (or anything else at hand), the recipe book on the table forgotten.

When it was all over, and the dust had literally settled, Patton and Dee stood in the middle of the kitchen, crying tears of laughter and holding each other like it was the end of the world. They were both covered in fine white powder; every movement brought another puff of flour. The afternoon sun filtered through a window, catching the particles in the air and surrounding them with a galaxy of little star-like specks.

“I love you,” Patton whispered. Dee heard his cheery music, which had been a background noise, rise to almost deafening.

“I love you.”

-

“I hear music.”

“What?”

Dee wasn’t quite sure why he was saying it. Everyone he’d told about it had called him a liar, delusional. Somehow, though, he felt like Patton was different. He steeled himself.

“I, uh. I hear music.”

“Right now?” Patton smiled, and yes, Dee did hear his music right then.

“Uh, yeah, actually.”

Patton paused the movie. They were curled up on the couch in their living room on a Sunday afternoon, cuddled in the warmth of blankets and each other, the first snow of the season falling outside.

“It’s stupid, never mind.”

“Dee, you can tell me anything.”

One look at those eyes, honest, accepting, loving, gave him the courage he needed.

“Well … I hear music,” he repeated. So few words, yet so hard to say. “Like, for me, everyone has their own tune that plays when they’re joyful—or, whatever.”

He tensed and looked away, waiting to be called a liar, or silly, or be laughed at. Instead, the music grew louder.

“That’s awesome.”

Dee looked back; Patton’s face was shining with excitement. He chuckled a bit. “Uh, yeah. It’s actually pretty loud.”

Patton didn’t seem to hear. He bounced off the couch and to the keyboard in the corner of the room. “You play, right? Can you play me somebody’s?”

“Of course, _mon amour_ ,” Dee said, trying to mask his apprehension with a silky tone. Patton blushed, then pulled back the chair. Dee sat, letting his nerves roll off in waves. He stretched his fingers, took one last glance at his love, then closed his eyes.

He knew what he was going to play. He’d memorized it years ago. Anytime he sat before a piano, it pulled at his hands and pushed at his head.

His hands found the correct keys. He waited a few seconds for the music in his ears to loop around to the beginning, then let it flow from his fingertips. He missed a note or two, but it was fine. The rest of it, the jaunty, plunking tune, sounded beautiful.

When he wrapped it up, he opened his eyes to see Patton’s shining with wonder.

“Is that yours?”

Dee barely heard the whisper over how loud the song was. He cringed inwardly, not wanting to wake the hurt deep inside at not having a song of his own. He grinned up at Patton.

“No. It’s yours.”

-

“Where are you?”

“I got held up. Dr. Green wanted to talk with me about getting an internship.”

“Where?”

“Thompson and Edelman.”

“That’s far away.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’m going to take it.”

Silence. “So where are you right now?”

“Stuck in traffic. It’s Friday, you know. Rush hour’s pretty bad.”

“Yeah.” A sigh. “I don’t know. This is the third date night in a row you’ve missed. Maybe we should stop trying.”

Now he felt guilty. In truth, the internship discussion hadn’t been what made him late. He’d hung around the dorms, playing poker with some other law students.

“Maybe we can do something tomorrow?”

“I’ve got to be at the clinic.”

“Right. Movie on Sunday?”

“… Yeah.”

“Great. You want me to pick something up to eat on my way home?”

“No, no. I made dinner. I’ll just reheat it for you.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you.”

-

Patton’s spoon clattered as it fell back in his bowl. His jaw hung open. Dee could hear the first few notes of a very recognizable tune.

Dee laughed. “It’s true. I’ve never built a snowman.”

A huge grin unfurled across Patton’s face. “Let’s go! Right now. I think it’s wet enough.”

“Are six inches enough to build a snowman?”

“Any amount of snow is enough if you try hard!”

So they built a snowman. Dee’s coat was warm, but he didn’t have any gloves, and wore yellow rubber dish gloves instead. When he waggled his fingers, Patton just laughed. “Now I know what to get you for Christmas!”

The snowman didn’t go so well. Grass stuck to it and the construction was lopsided and Dee was fairly certain that the head was the same size as the bottom part, but Patton smiled happily and ran inside the apartment building. He emerged with a carrot, likely borrowed from one of the grinning neighbors that watched through the windows. He stuck it proudly in the middle of its face; Dee wrapped his only scarf around it.

Patton declared it the best snowman ever.

-

He did get gloves for Christmas. They were a ghastly yellow (likely in memory of the dish gloves), but they were soft, and one look at Patton’s sparkling eyes told him he was going to wear them every day.

-

“I’m truly touched that you didn’t like my birthday gift.”

“I told you I didn’t want anything! I would’ve loved to just spend the day with you.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I didn’t understand your stupid hints. Maybe I shouldn’t have spent a week trying to pick something!”

“If you’d listened to me, you wouldn’t have had to! You would’ve known what I wanted!”

“Obviously _I’m_ not wanted, I’ll be back tonight. Return the gift, I don’t give a—”

“—Don’t go play poker, you know I hate it when you gamble!”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“That’s not the person I fell in love with!”

“What, you thought I was a submissive puppy?! I have goals and a life, you know! I can’t spend every minute listening to you! I’m not here just to make you happy!”

“And I’m not here to have a boyfriend who ignores me and _lies_ to avoid spending time with me!”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Maybe I don’t know if it was a sincere apology!”

“Maybe you should get a new boyfriend!”

“… You—you don’t mean that.”

_Slam._

-

“Name?”

Dee cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m just here to deliver these flowers to Dr. Esperanza.”

The man at the desk’s face lit up. “Aw, that’s cute! I’ll let him know.”

Dee turned to leave, but a door opening behind him gave him pause. Was Patton coming into the waiting room?

No. The man had glasses, but his hair was a lighter shade of brown and his eyes were grey, and he had a more professional look—a necktie over a white button-up, covered by a lab coat. A low, methodical tune followed him.

“The Foster dog needs flea treatment,” the man said to the secretary without preamble, then noticed Dee. “Ah. Are you a patient with us?”

Dee shook his head. Then gestured at the flowers, then pointed at the door the man had exited from. His throat felt too dry too speak for some reason. The man followed his gestures, then his gaze landed on the deformed side of Dee’s visage. Dee felt his face burn as he saw the distaste take over the man's—Dr. Logan Cato, his badge read—face. Dr. Cato’s music trundled to a stop.

The doctor took him by the arm out the front door, nails biting into Dee’s skin. As soon as the door closed, he spoke.

“If Patton ever comes into work crying again,” Dr. Cato said, his voice a low threat, “you’ll have me to answer to. You’re going to have to do better than some cheap flowers.”

Dee nodded and tried to pull away, but the man wasn’t done. “Anyone would be lucky to have him,” the veterinarian said. “You need to recognize just how much you mean to him.”

That annoyed Dee. As Dr. Cato released him and walked back inside, Dee went over his words again. How much _he_ meant to _Patton_? What about how much _Patton_ meant to him? He’d skipped class and driven across town to the vet that Patton interned at just to apologize! Sure, maybe he was too much of a coward to say sorry in person, but he’d googled about which flowers meant what and composed a poem.

Patton was his life. He wouldn’t let a stupid mistake push him away.

-

“Did you skip class to get me the flowers?”

“Yes.”

“Dee, you can't—”

“Sweetheart, I wanted to.”

“But your future!”

“I don’t want a future without you.”

-

“Where were you?”

Dee froze halfway in the door. “Tutoring,” he lied. Patton hated when he gambled. Speaking of Patton, the man stood before him now, his face stony, arms crossed.

“We were supposed to spend the evening together.”

In all honesty, a part of Dee had remembered. They’d been planning a trip to a busy restaurant. He knew Patton wanted to, but he shuddered at the thought of such a crowded place, so many people with so much music.

“I’m sorry, he apologized automatically. “Three students needed help, and I was the only person there to tutor—”

“I got the evening off work just to spend with you.”

Dee felt a spark of anger in his chest. “What about me?” he asked belligerently. “What if I’d come home and wanted to be alone?”

“Well, I—”

“I can’t drop everything I’m doing just because you want me to!” Dee ranted, really getting heated now. “I care about you, but I have a life too! I have things that I want to do, too!”

Patton’s brow furrowed. “Were you … were you out gambling again?”

Dee felt his face heat up. “So what if I was? What’s wrong with that?”

“Dee, there’s so much wrong with it, but… .” Patton looked away. When he turned back, his earnest face was crumpling, his eyes full. “Today? Of all days?” he choked out.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no. His anger vanished quick as it had come, replaced by a cold fear. Today? What was today?

The 24th. The 24th of April. The same date that, a year ago, Patton had agreed to be his boyfriend.

Their anniversary.

“Oh no,” he breathed. His mind flew: did he get a gift? Was his gift going to be spending time together? And if so, did he just ruin their anniversary—and relationship—by being a selfish idiot?

Before he could say anything, a body pushed past him; the door swung closed.

“No—Pat, wait—!”

He threw himself out the door, but Patton was already gone. The thudding of running feet echoed from the stairwell.

“Pat, please!” Dee called out, heedless of those trying to sleep in surrounding apartments. He flew down the stairs, coming to a stop on the ground level just as the building door slammed shut.

A woman and her toddler watched on sympathetically as Dee dropped to his knees and sobbed. He hadn’t thought that the night before would be the last night he’d get to hold his true love.

He hadn’t thought that he’d be the one to drive his true love away.

-

“One more chance.”

“One more chance.”

Dee pulled Patton into a kiss, relaxing when his boyfriend (somewhat reluctantly) returned the affection.

“How about I take off work tomorrow? You don’t work till 3, so we can pull an all-nighter tonight.”

Patton nodded, a small smile gracing his tear-stained face. “It’s been a while since we did one of those.”

“I still haven’t seen that Christopher Robin movie.”

Later, they were curled up on the floor, surrounded by blankets and pillows and popcorn, a plate of pizza rolls between them, the movie playing on the screen before them. Dee tapped Patton on the shoulder; the man looked up sleepily.

“I made this for you,” he whispered, and dropped something into his hand.

Patton’s eyes widened at the bracelet. Beads spelling his name were laced into a complicated braid (Dee had learned to braid years previous, having been forced by a foster sister, then realized he found it calming and kept it up). Different shades of blue and grey crisscrossed beautifully and intricately.

“I’ll wear it forever,” breathed Patton. “How did you make it?”

Dee shrugged awkwardly, a hand on the back of his neck. “It wasn’t too hard. Just a braid.”

“I love it.”

Dee smiled, relieved. “I love you, you know?”

Finally, he heard that soft, plunking music.

“Yeah. I love you.”

-

It was late—or, early, maybe? That was okay, though. He’d let Patton know in advance that he’d be late. He’d made something up about a study group and dinner afterward. Patton had seemed okay with it.

However, it was now clear that his boyfriend had made plans of his own. He could hear Pat through the walls—chatting with the couple two doors down. He couldn’t hear his song, though.

Instead of going straight to bed, he flopped out on the couch and turned something on—probably music. Music made for a good white noise for him, something to have to relax against.

It was perhaps a sign of his growing drowsiness that he didn’t hear when the door opened.

“Oh.”

The word was cold and removed, and Dee sat up and stretched, blinking blearily at the figure in the doorway.

“Pat?” He took in his boyfriend’s red nose and eyes, his stiff posture, the tight line that was his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“She tagged you.”

“What?”

Patton pointed at an open laptop on the counter, which Dee hadn’t previously noticed. He stumbled up and over to it, his fingers dancing across the mousepad as the screen woke up.

It was open to a video on a social media site, and before it even started, Dee felt his heart sink.

He saw himself, hissing on a pair of dice and tossing them out onto an unseen table. Saw himself raise his arms in a gesture of triumph, mouthing _“Snake eyes!”_ amidst silent cheering from the group crowding around him. Saw a girl (he didn’t even know her name, some freshman who was already failing) pull him by his collar until their mouths collided. Saw his own eyebrows raise. Saw a student whistle, another letting out a noiseless catcall.

The clip moved on to a different moment before he could watch himself push the girl away with a nervous laugh. Check the time. Make up some excuse about leaving. Bite his lip anxiously, hoping that Patton would never find out.

He looked up wordlessly, trying to find something more meaningful than _I’m sorry_ (words that should mean so much, but went hollow after too many lies). A tear slipped from Patton’s eye, dying a spot on his light blue t-shirt black.

“I thought you’d died,” he spat. “There was an accident on 150. The car looked like yours. I kept calling, and you didn’t pick up.”

“Pat—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Patton shouted, anger spilling over. “You promised you would stop gambling, you promised to not lie, and on April 24th, over a year ago, you promised to love me!”

“Pat!” But he couldn’t be stopped.

“Everything is lies! Every day, I’m asking myself if you’re really planning on coming home that night!” Tears ran fiercely down both of their faces. Dee stood, reached for Patton’s shoulder, who jumped back as if burned.

“Don’t touch me!” he hissed. “You’re full of lies, and—and—” his voice raised— “Now I know why your parents named you Deceit!”

Dee physically recoiled. They never talked about his birth name. _Ever_. Patton had promised to never bring it up—not in an argument, not in a loving way, never. It hurt too much. He looked , expecting an apology. None came. Patton glared at him. Dee broke eye contact immediately, feeling the freezing pain of hearing his name mixed the crippling pain of his lover’s hateful gaze. As soon as he turned away, a choked sob met his ears, and a body pushed past him.

Not for the first time, Patton ran away from the apartment. Not for the first time, Dee stood in shock, and briefly wondered what the neighbors must think.

Not for the first time, Dee fell to his knees, certain that this was the last time, that his true love was never coming back.

-

Dee was there when Patton returned—or, rather, there again. Dee had wandered the streets in the windy night until the edges of the sky started to turn purple, then orange. Then he’d wearily trod back to the complex to see if Patton had returned of his own accord. The man hadn’t, but hardly ten minutes passed before the door was quietly pushed open and Patton stumbled in, stepped around Dee—who was silently crying in a heap on the floor—and went into the bedroom. The lock clicked behind him.

Now, Dee dashed away his tears. The sun was almost fully visible. On a weekday, they would be up at this time, preparing breakfast and showering and packing their bags for class.

Dee wasn’t all that great at cooking, but scrambled eggs were decently simple, so he cracked some eggs in a pan and turned on the stove.

At some point, a glimmer of hope had sprung up in his stomach. Maybe … if he changed … if he reminded Pat of all the good times. . . .

He shook himself. _He isn’t happy with you,_ he told himself. _It’s hurting him to be with you._

Still, though. Maybe … maybe if he devoted his life to him … maybe … maybe Patton could love him again… .

“Dee?”

Dee dropped the spatula with a jump; he looked up to see Patton in the doorway. The man was in the same clothes as the night before, hair rumpled and eyes heavy with sleep.

He looked away as quickly as possible, stirring the eggs with vigor he didn’t possess.

“Dee?”

“I’m making eggs,” Dee rambled. “You know I’m not that good at cooking, but I wanted something to do, and you were going to need to eat, and I couldn’t sleep, so—”

“Dee.”

He met Patton’s eyes. They were quiet, dull without the normal sparks of love and life. “Yes?”

“We tried, you know?”

And there it was. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes as Dee dropped the spatula again, letting his arms fall uselessly to his sides.

“We tried,” Patton continued, voice somehow emotionless yet overflowing with all the feelings neither of them could confess. “And we had some really good times. But people change—like clothes shrinking in the wash. One day, it’s your favorite shirt, and it fits perfectly and you feel happy. The next, it’s too small. Doesn’t fit. It’ll never fit again. And you’re sad—you’ve just lost something that made you feel really good.”

“Pat, please—”

“I-I care about you, Dee. But this is hurting both of us. We—we just don’t fit anymore.”

And now Patton was crying, now they both were, shaking and sobbing and feeling their life crash down around them. _I’m sorry,_ Dee wanted to say. _I’ll change. Please. Please don’t leave me._ Instead, he wrapped his arms around Patton as the man flung himself at his chest. The eggs forgotten, they stood in the middle of the kitchen, crying tears of sadness and frustration and everything else and holding each other like it was the end of the world. The morning sun filtered in through the window, shining a spotlight on the two broken men.

“I love you,” Dee whispered. Patton said nothing, just hugged him closer. And Dee heard the sharpness, the poignancy, the depths of emptiness wrapped in one melody.

Silence.


End file.
